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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25788538">dearly departed</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingfractals/pseuds/fallingfractals'>fallingfractals</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Friendship, Gen, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), like missed connections but with more feelings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:47:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,365</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25788538</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingfractals/pseuds/fallingfractals</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“Maybe we should have gotten married instead,” he says with a laugh, and he reaches over to take her free hand into his. Her fingers are tough and calloused from wielding her lance, but it feels familiar. It feels right. “I’ve thought about it before.”</p>
  <p>She pauses, her gaze shifting to the side. “I would have considered it.”</p>
</blockquote>(what could have been.)
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>dearly departed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w2GvvPt7J64">it’s the 3rd of october.</a>
</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>(you should come over, best laid plans are not sober</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>and maybe not the way we thought we planned, but both of us will take this hand)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shows up to his room nearing midnight, unannounced. When she knocks on his door, he lets her in because she’s Ingrid, and it’s late, so it must be something important.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m getting married,” she says once the door shuts behind her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stares at the careful way her face remains stoic, as though she didn’t just spring a sudden betrothal announcement onto him. He tries to collect his thoughts, tries to piece everything together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, he opts for a quiet, “Congratulations?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not the right word, but he doesn’t know what other words to use. Regardless, she seems to understand. She usually does.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s for Galatea,” she elaborates, because of course it is. “He’s from Lear. They’ve been an important trading partner to us for generations. The talks have been going on for months, and I’ve been able to meet him a handful of times in the past. He seems like a good person too. Clean.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he says instead this time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be, Sylvain. I made the decision myself. Once the war is over, Galatea will need me more than His Highness will.” For a second, the practiced neutrality on her face breaks. “I’ll still be fighting—maybe no longer with my lance, but it’s still fighting. For my people. It’s my duty.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He simply nods in response because that’s it, that’s what it always has been: duty. They have a duty to their people, to their lands, but not necessarily to themselves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turns around to his desk and starts rummaging through drawers. After a moment, he pulls something out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here, I have this for special occasions.” He twists to face her again, two flasks in hand. “Or, just occasions. Honestly, Ingrid, I think you need a drink.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(embrace for a dear old friend, bring wine to bed </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>we'll toast what could have been)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He uncaps a single flask and holds it out towards her. She takes a sniff of the drink, and her nose scrunches up as the smell wafts up from the small bottle and overloads her senses. “Wine? Where did you even get this from?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugs. “Grabbed some on a supply run.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She raises an eyebrow. “Really?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re marching to victory,” he says, a wry smile on his face. “Or I’d like to think so, at least. So what’s a little drink or two?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He waves the flask at her impatiently when she doesn’t budge. “Come on, have a drink. Just one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She finally relents, grabbing the bottle from him. It isn’t long until she’s bringing the drink to her lips. He can’t help the chuckle that falls from his mouth as he idly watches. Once she lowers her arm, he places a hand on her elbow, gently guiding her to sit on his bed. He takes a seat next to her, their knees knocking together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a while, they sit there in silence, shoulder to shoulder. Letting everything settle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He eventually opens his own flask and takes a long swig.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(and you can send me balloons </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>and we can laugh at the doom)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll need to get married soon too, probably,” he speaks up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t say any more, but she knows. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Probably,” she repeats.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe we should have gotten married instead,” he says with a laugh, and he reaches over to take her free hand into his. Her fingers are tough and calloused from wielding her lance, but it feels familiar. It feels right. “I’ve thought about it before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pauses, her gaze shifting to the side. “I would have considered it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stops too, brow furrowing in response. “Really? Me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe if you asked seriously for once, instead of all of the jokes, yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watches her, an eyebrow still raised in question.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe not at first,” she amends. “But over the past few years, after all of the letters and conversations I’ve had with my father, well… If it’s not you, it’d just be a stranger. So I’ve thought about it before too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve thought about it before too,” he echoes. “Me, and you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her cheeks flush at that. “Yes, Sylvain. Taking everything into account—what Galatea has and needs—it makes sense. I’ve thought about Felix too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You never said anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Neither did you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t think you wanted to get married.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Neither did you,” she says again, then she sighs, her eyes moving back towards their connected hands. He’s not sure who does it first, but one of them pulls away. “It makes sense for me, but how much sense does it make for you? Galatea has never had much to offer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It has you,” he murmurs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She frowns. “And that’s exactly it; I’m all that Galatea has.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re my friend, Ingrid. One of my oldest. Of course it makes sense to me,” he tells her simply. “I wouldn’t need anything else from Galatea.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s never been about just me or you, Sylvain,” she whispers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He closes his eyes. He wishes it were different, simpler. She must too. “You’re right, though I’m sure my father would have been pleased with you anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mine too,” she concurs, and that’s a twisted thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(i crossed my heart but i stuttered too</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>so truth or dare, was i good to you?)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey.” He opens his eyes and searches her face, catching the way she’s watching him so intently. He takes a breath and his voice comes out steady, “Would you marry me, then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The edges of her lips quirk upwards into a small smile. “I wish I could say what you want to hear, Sylvain.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You could still say it, Ingrid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you marry me, then?” she asks instead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pauses, bringing his free hand to his chin as though he’s very seriously contemplating her question—as though what he says could actually make a difference. After a moment, he drops his hand to fidget with the drink still in his grasp. A grin spreads on his face, then: “I’d consider it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rolls her eyes in mock exasperation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe if there wasn’t another man in the picture already,” he adds pointedly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like that’s stopped you before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, it’s stopping me now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes soften and she sighs once more. “You know, we’re a few weeks from signing the papers, it’s too late to put a stop to it now. Not that we can risk harming our relationship with Lear at this point, anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that, she brings her flask to her mouth and takes another drink. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you think it’d have been like?” he asks next. “You and me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d probably have to drag you out of bed in the morning, for one,” she says right off the bat. “Just like when we were students, but you’d be missing diplomatic meetings instead of lectures.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Some of those would still feel like lectures, I bet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Still not a reason to miss them.” She elbows him lightly in the ribs and he lets out an exaggerated gasp of pain. “I’d still be in Galatea often enough. There’s a lot that will need to be done—some structural changes to our agriculture, maybe new agreements that can be made with other territories. You’d share some of that diplomatic knowledge of yours with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He flashes her a crooked grin. “And I’d be north of Gautier sitting through all of those diplomatic lectures. We’d be talking peace, not fighting, because we won’t need Crests anymore. Then I’d come home from Sreng and you’d be there for me too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She leans her head against his shoulder. “I can still be there, Sylvain. We could still do all of it. We could still change things.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughs again, quiet. She can probably feel it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And then one day,” he continues, and he takes a sip of his wine, “I can ask you to marry me again and you’ll be able to say ‘yes.’”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She raises her flask and taps it against his, smiling. “I can drink to that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(forever after you will be my home </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>and there's no place like home)</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>is this considered a songfic, i haven’t written one since i was probably twelve. ‘Dearly Departed’ is evidently my breakup song for these two (gotta have one for every ship you like after all) but i wanted to write something else with it, which is this. what do you call a breakup when there wasn’t actually a relationship in the first place?</p>
<p>anyway, come back to read this on the 3rd of october.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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